


before, there was everything. now, there is Everything.

by aerintine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-10
Updated: 2011-01-10
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:50:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerintine/pseuds/aerintine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set  pre-Battle of Hogwarts and mid-DH.</p><p>This is for <span class="ljuser i-ljuser"><a href="http://penny-lane-42.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://penny-lane-42.livejournal.com/"><b>penny_lane_42</b></a></span> , <span class="ljuser i-ljuser"><a href="http://ever-neutral.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://ever-neutral.livejournal.com/"><b>ever_neutral</b></a></span> , and <span class="ljuser i-ljuser"></span><a href="http://mollivanders.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://mollivanders.livejournal.com/"></a><b>mollivanders</b> , who lit a spark in me this week.</p>
    </blockquote>





	before, there was everything. now, there is Everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Set pre-Battle of Hogwarts and mid-DH.
> 
> This is for [](http://penny-lane-42.livejournal.com/profile)[ **penny_lane_42**](http://penny-lane-42.livejournal.com/)  , [](http://ever-neutral.livejournal.com/profile)[ **ever_neutral**](http://ever-neutral.livejournal.com/)  , and [](http://mollivanders.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://mollivanders.livejournal.com/) **mollivanders**  , who lit a spark in me this week.

 

When Hermione was six, she met her best friend for life. Marin Gregg sat next to her in Mrs. Fogle’s Grade 1 class. They’d been sat in alphabetical order, and Hermione’s toes tingled at the joy of everything making so much sense. There was Erik Fishburn, who was a complete toad and liked picking his nose and wiping the mucous on Hermione’s desk. Then there was Hermione Granger. And lastly Marin Gregg. Marin had raised her hand and plaintively told the teacher that Erik was bothering her friend. When that horrible imp did it again anyway, Marin stood up and shoved Erik out of his chair. Marin had gotten into all kinds of trouble for that; she hadn’t been allowed to join everyone in the yard for play for a whole week. Hermione was elated. She had a best friend. Everything was perfect.

Marin came along on family camping trips, a pastime her dad loved but she suspected her mum only tolerated. They would share a little pup tent, the two of them, and giggle together, hands held tightly, late into the night until her mum would raise her voice and beg them, ‘for the love of all that’s holy,’ to shut off their flashlights and go to sleep. Hermione thought it was awfully generous of Marin not to complain about the lack of sweets on these trips. If her parents were as neat as Marin’s they would have let her at least have chocolate. But Marin reassured her over and over that apples were delicious and they would have the nicest teeth in school and Hermione sighed in her heart with happiness.

When Hermione was ten, Sophie Stanwick moved in next to the Greggs. Her father was the new parish minister at Marin’s church, and Marin’s parents immediately got on quite well with Mr. and Mrs. Stanwick. The two families began spending most of their Saturdays together. Saturday was the day Hermione and Marin liked to ride their bicycles to the pond and watch the geese while reading. But Sophie Stanwick didn’t like riding bicycles; she preferred to walk. Sophie Stanwick had long blonde braids and complained that school was “lame” and smacked her gum and wore neon pink bands around the clear braces on each of her teeth.

On a sunny Saturday morning Hermione arrived on Marin’s doorstep, out of breath with excitement over having just read a new book and really, how could she have gone so far in life without discovering _A Wrinkle in Time_? She couldn’t wait to get to the pond and reread the very best parts out loud. She rang the bell, and after a protracted pause, Sophie Stanwick answered the door. Hermione started to frown, but quickly recovered and offered a tight smile.

“Marin! Your friend is here,” said Sophie Stanwick. _Your friend_ is here. _Your_ friend. Your _friend_. Hermione shifted on her feet and readjusted her knapsack. Sophie Stanwick blew a large pink bubble and then sucked it quickly back into her mouth. How did she do that with those braces? She made no move to grant Hermione entry.

Marin appeared in the doorway before long, and Hermione brightened, brushing off the rather putout look Marin shot her. Sophie Stanwick disappeared back inside the house.

“Marin, hi! Let’s go I’ve got the most amazing - ”

“I can’t. Sophie’s dad is gone at some conference so the rest of us are heading to the coast for the weekend. Sorry.”

Hermione tried not to show her disappointment.

“Alright. That’s ok I guess. I’ll just run home and tell Mum and Dad and grab some clothes and be right back. Are we taking your mum’s car?”

Marin looked everywhere but at Hermione. “It’s supposed to be a ‘mother-daughter-getaway.’ Sorry, I would have told you sooner but Sophie came over last night and I totally forgot.”

Hermione persisted. “But, it’s our Saturday, Marin. I wanted to show you this book.”

“Jeez, don’t you get it? You’re not invited. I’m busy. I’ll see you on Monday, okay?”

And with that, Hermione’s best friend for life shut the door. The bubbling strains of giggles soon sounded from within the house.

Hermione stood on the stoop for another minute or so, trying to understand what she had done wrong and how her everything had just changed.

 

 

*****

 

Hermione is eighteen. She lies on a lumpy mattress in a smelly tent under trees she hasn’t thought of in years. Trees that saw some of the best moments of her childhood. She kicks at the covers in agitation and turns to her other side. These days, she cannot remember the simplest things about her life before Hogwarts. It’s all a blur, and when she probes the edges of her mind, she feels a numbing trepidation that makes her retreat to other thoughts. She thinks it might be a side effect of the obliviate charm she used on her parents. Tries not to think about the implications of that knowledge.

As the night deepens, she hears Harry cough just outside the tent flaps and sighs. She feels the anxious dread of sleep creeping, and wonders why, even in the light of day, everything now moves like dreaming. Wonders how she can feel so absent when her mind will only allow her to be in the present. She closes her eyes and, as sleep takes her, thinks of _him_.

He’s lying on the cold forest floor, breaths shallow and rapid, hands clenching spasmodically.

She feels sick, and his wounded arm gapes at her. His face is pale and grey, and the blood is so, so red against her trembling fingers. She knows it’s her fault, this wet, red stickiness plastered over her wrists and the cuffs of her shirtsleeves. It smells of earth and moldering roses. No matter what Harry says, she knows. After all, Ron had left them soon after, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he left _her_?  Had left her screaming and begging into the void. Because of the weight of her. Because to be near her meant being pressed thin, cut.  Meant being bruised. Meant giving up one’s flesh.

She dreams of every mean and thoughtless thing they’ve ever said to one another. All their words end up landing just in front or just behind the other. Never straight on. Never open. She dreams legions of despair, of trying to sit next to him only to fall to the floor. Of reaching for his hand and grasping empty air. Of searching out his lips with her own and finding her mouth full of wilting rose petals.

She dreams of Harry too, and in her dreams he is always there, the warmth of him at her side. But he will not look at her. He whispers to her but she cannot understand the words. He is in earnest, she can feel it, but he will not look at her and she cannot hear him. His mumblings get louder, and she cranes her neck. She can almost make out the meaning…

And then, all of a sudden, he is there. Her eyes are open and Harry is there, and he’s saying something, but she cannot understand the words. She shakes the cotton from her head and cranes her neck. Someone. Here. Someone is here. Her heart leaps in fear, and then she sees _him_. Harry, along with Everything Else, disappears. Her mind goes blank.

He looks at her beseechingly. She stares.

Somehow she finds herself standing in front of him. His eyes are wide and bright and he’s so still and she looks at him and thinks it _cannot_ be him because he _never_ holds still, not even for a moment. Time stretches out and all she can hear is the bleating, insistent pounding of her heart against her ribs.

His breath brushes up against her and she feels the mad urge to step into it and let it cover her. She holds her ground. But he just keeps looking at her, as though she’s the only real thing his haunted eyes have ever seen.

And his gaze fills her with a relieved surge of rage she thought she’d never feel again. She clenches her heart and fists.

With a jolt that feels like finally waking, she rushes at him.

 

 

~fin~

 

 


End file.
